


Warpaint

by Aria_Masterson1153



Series: Warpaint [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: DR. JONATHAN TOEWS ANYONE?, HE IS, M/M, Pat is the Joker, no seriously, uh...Pat kills people as the Joker (but it's only mentioned in passing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>“What you know about me? Don’t fool yourself little one. You know <i>nothing</i> about me.” He retorted with amusement evident in his voice. “But then, who are you? Semi-intelligent, and likes to answer questions with more questions. Why, I say we’re quite similar!” The Joker shrieked in laughter.<br/><br/>“I’m a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum.” Jon quickly answered.<br/><br/>“Ah, figures. All the good ones are either insane or shrinks.”<br/><br/>(Pat is the Joker and Jon's an up-and-coming psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum that the Joker has taken a shining to.)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Warpaint

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Seriously, what.  
>   
> I just love the Joker, okay.  
>   
>  **PLEASE READ THE ENDNOTES!!**  
> 

  
The first time Jon saw him he was completely caught off guard. The Joker. Gotham’s newly appointed mischief-maker. The one who sported the ridiculous clown make-up and reveled in strife and chaos. The person who was easily recognized by his sinister laugh; which was usually accompanied by physical harm to either himself or others, an epiphany that revolved around the degradation of organized society, destruction of public property, or a sight of morbid hilarity. And one couldn’t forget the scars, could they? The most renowned of the Joker’s costume. Though their origins had not been confirmed, one could only guess they would be as horrifying and morbid as one could possibly imagine.  
  
And it was at a dinner party, no less. A dinner party for Gotham’s brightest, _and wealthiest_ , stars. It was being hosted at a temporary venue in the Wayne name. Of course, Mr. Bruce Wayne himself was a no-show, but really, the man had supermodels to see and business deals to close, why would he spend his time at a boring dinner party in which everyone boasted about their parent’s wealth?  
  
Now, Jon couldn’t be too much of a hypocrite, as he came from old money on both sides of his family, but he wasn’t half as bad as some of the spoiled brats at this dinner party. He removed his head from his own ass during junior year of high school, got a job, and put himself through pre-med and medical school. His family requested very little of him, so he supposed that he could honor their request to make an appearance at these dinner parties to protect his parent’s reputation.  
  
But then again, what if these supposed spoiled brats were putting on a show to maintain their family’s reputation just as Jon had? It was quite curious, Jon remarked internally, how easily one could hide their true identity. Kind of like the Joker, he supposed, because under all that make-up and extensive costume, there was a man. A man who had a name, _an identity_ , and a family.  
  
And Jon? He was Arkham Asylum’s up-and-coming psychiatrist, with his progressive work in rehabilitation of the fractured mind. He was to replace the former psychiatrist Dr. Harleen Quinzel who had a lapse in sanity and attacked the lunch lady because she didn’t give Harleen an extra cookie with her meal. Jeesh, Jon thought, one could easily lose grasp on their sanity working at an institution like Arkham. He would have to be extra careful in his interactions with patients, because he understood firsthand how manipulating some of them could be.  
  
But this, _this_ he wasn’t expecting. Sure, the white, red, and black facial make-up. The purple coat and green vest, okay. What he was _not_ expecting was the Joker to be clean faced, with smooth, tanned skin. With a small, friendly smile, containing perfectly straight white teeth. Wearing a sleek black suit tailored within an inch of his body, and within half an inch of Jon’s sanity. The Joker was also wearing a dark brown fedora, which was most likely used to cover the shoulder length curly blonde locks that would reveal a subtle green tint.  
  
But the scars. How well he managed to cover his extended smile was baffling Jon. They were visible, but just barely, when the Joker’s smile edged its usual cheerfully insidious grin. Nonetheless, the Joker managed to school it back into a small smile, and his scars were concealed yet again.  
  
Though the Joker was putting on a good performance at charming the pants off of Gotham’s finest, there were some tells to his act, that only a trained psychiatrist would notice. One of them being his mouth. It seemed to be in constant movement, whether it was the controlled smiles the Joker was awarding his crowd, or the flick of his tongue to his lips, as if he were wetting lip make-up that wasn’t there.  
  
Jon had always found that the body itself was the best tell to people’s motives, as it would unfailingly give some indication, no matter how insignificant it may seem, as to what a person was planning next. And those sparks of madness in the Joker’s eyes, and the way his hands seemed to fidget every few seconds? There was chaos to come, and it would be a lengthy visitor.  
  
So why wasn’t Jon running to Commissioner Loeb, or to Mayor Garcia to inform them that their most wanted criminal had made a mockery of the security team and was currently blinding the most influential people of Gotham with his excessive charm and charisma?  
  
He couldn’t say for sure, perhaps he was being blinded as well.  
  
Suddenly, the Joker glanced up at Jon from his gaggle of followers, as if he could feel Jon’s hardened stare. One would think that the Joker may have panicked at his glare, but instead, he cocked his head to the right and grinned, and Jon could visibly watch the excitement flame in those contemplating eyes.  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++

Jon kept steady eyes on the Joker throughout the night, in case he was planning harm to those who were attending the dinner party. Whenever the Joker thought he would be able to sneak away to attempt the plan he was obviously putting into fruition, Jon would be right on his tail. Jon did not believe that the Joker would strip his make-up and costume to simply have a normal dinner party with the stuffy elite of Gotham. _No_ , Jon thought, _he was definitely planning something_.

Jon detected some movement to his right, and watched as the Joker pulled himself away from his ring of followers. The Joker made no move to turn behind and meet Jon’s eyes, but it was implied that he knew Jon was following his every move. He bore a confident walk, as if he knew the endpoint of every twist and turn through this unfamiliar venue. His walk held a natural swagger, and he carelessly reached for a champagne flute, spilling half of it on the plush carpet, but knocking back the rest of it with one gulp. He slammed down the flute on the table as he tucked one of his rebellious curls back into the confines of the fedora.

Jon could not help but be entranced by the movements of the Joker; they screamed for attention yet the stares of many seemed to roll off him, as if he wouldn’t spare them a glance. The Joker seemed to be full of contradictions, or he rejected the establishment of a concrete behavioural code.

As he followed the joker down the hallway, he detected an open door to his right. It seemed to be another lavish ballroom, but it was not decorated and the lights were off, the only light shining in from the moon.

He spotted the Joker in the far corner of the room, fiddling with the lapel of his suit.

“These things are just so stuffy, aren’t they? I mean, why make them tight? Then you can’t hide any surprises in them.” The Joker muttered while smirking, he raised his head and met Jon’s gaze. “Wouldn’t you like to be surprised? I hear fireworks are nice this time of year.”

“Why are you here? You only appear in places where there is mass destruction and murder. These people haven’t done anything wrong to you!” Jon exclaimed, taking a few steps towards the Joker.

The Joker laughed, a light, child-like sound that edged into his madness. “ _Yet._ One of the great things about Gotham, as well as their vast supply of warped minds like mine, is that their leaders always seem to give me second chances to succeed at what I failed to perfect in the first act.”

“And what about us then? Why do we have to suffer because of their mistakes?” Jon questioned.

“Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Why are the blind lambs always punished when their leaders, the gods they put on pedestals, are exposed for what they truly are? Why when those lambs are uncovered, am I regarded as the bad guy?”

“Because we don’t know any better, that’s why we shouldn’t be punished!” Jon shouted, in an attempt to convince both himself and the Joker.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The Joker admonished. “Those bumbling fools in the dining hall may be able to feign ignorance and not take any responsibility for their insolence. But not you. After suffering through this ego therapy session, you were the only one to see past the act. You don’t get to insult your intelligence.” The Joker mocked, wagging his finger at Jon. “I’m trying to work on my acting, and they say that constructive criticism always helps an actor delve deeper into the role.” The Joker rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “So lay it on me coach, what can I do better? Was it the smile or the laugh, I’ve always found them a little tough to control!”

“Uh…” Jon was unsure of how to respond. The Joker seemed to enjoy doing that, overwhelming someone with many different topics of information and expecting them to articulate an appropriate response to every subject of conversation.

“Oh how could I be so silly, I know what it is!” The Joker cackled as he rushed in front of Jon and grabbed his face. “It’s the scars, isn’t it? It’s _always_ the scars with you people.” He joked in a low menacing voice.

“No, I noticed the scars afterwards. You uh, seem to have a knack for make-up application, on both ends of the spectrum.” Jon responded slowly.

“Oh, well lookie here folks! We have a Joker on our hands!” The Joker cheered to an empty crowd, with his arms expanded to envelop the followers that weren’t there. “Trouble is, sonny-boy, there’s only room for _one_ Joker at this party.” The Joker held a switchblade up to Jon’s cheek. “Wanna know how I got them?” He whispered with a twisted grin, anticipation lighting up his features.

“You’re a pathological liar, I know the story you tell me won’t be true.” Jon responded, and oh, where the hell was all this courage coming from?

The Joker hummed. “Maybe you’re not so smart after all, hm? Wouldn’t want to piss of the _insane_ guy, now would we?” He sniggered, and pretended to wipe away a tear in his manic fit of laughter.

“I know you aren’t insane, stop hiding behind your laugh and make-up,” Jon retorted, realizing that the joker only performed the full-on cackle whenever he was attempting to convince someone of his insanity. However, Jon was trained to look past the theatrics a patient may perform to deflect attention from unwanted subjects of conversation.

His comment seemed to throw the Joker for a split second, and the Joker cocked his head and stared at Jon with squinted eyes, as if he was attempting to peer into Jon’s very being.

Suddenly the Joker pushed away from Jon’s face, ripped off his fedora and shook his hair out like a dog would after a bath. He abruptly turned on his heel to face Jon, and he felt the fedora being shoved on the top portion of his face, leaving his lower jaw, mouth, and nose exposed to the Joker’s eerie stare.

“Hm, too bad. I really thought I had you this time.” The Joker murmured, after removing the fedora from Jon’s face.

“What?” Jon was still too confused to form a proper sentence.

“I had a short lapse in judgement of course…I thought you were Bats!” He smirked widely, showing the strain of the make-up against his scars. “I really thought you were him, with your height and good moral lesson making. Between you and me though, it’s all a bad joke. Outdated and overused, kind of like Dr. Harley Quin; excuse me, _Harleen Quinzel_.” His eyes held a knowing glint.

“But I look nothing like the Batman!” Jon protested, not believing this was where the conversation was going.

“Ah, but you’d be surprised at how much a simple mask can hide,” he clucked his tongue and raised his eyebrows. “Then again, you do have better teeth than Batman. Not that I’d want to knock them out one by one and string them on a thread and wear it as a necklace…” The Joker looked up, as if knocking himself out of a trance. “Uh…it’s a compliment.” He gave as much of a sheepish smile as one would expect the Joker to give.

Jon looked at the Joker, with horror showing true in his features. He subconsciously took two steps back, the Joker watching his every move.

“Oh am I making you nervous? Sorry, people always tell me I’m a little too… _cheeky_ to those I just meet.” The Joker said as he smirked, apparently proud of his pun.

“What are you doing here?” Jon questioned, in an attempt to steer the Joker back to the original topic.

“Good question, what _am_ I doing here? Am I going to blow up the dining hall in precisely 2 minutes and 40 seconds? No, no,” he shook his head emphatically. “That would require a plan. I simply don’t _do_ plans. They tend to backfire greatly in the end. For example, you looking at me across the hall with the intent to turn me in to the commissioner or the mayor? How did that go from you having a plan to following me when I left to go to the washroom?” The Joker questioned in Jon’s face. “All that I do is take everyone’s carefully considered plans and exploit them for their failures. And the thing that gets me? You all make it _so easy_.”

“But then wouldn’t you need a plan to use a washroom break as a rouse to get me alone to figure out what I know about you?” Jon queried.

The Joker shrieked with laughter. “What you know about me? Don’t fool yourself little one. You know _nothing_ about me.” He retorted with amusement evident in his voice. “But then, who are you? Semi-intelligent, and likes to answer questions with more questions. Why, I say we’re quite similar!” The Joker guffawed.

“I’m a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum.” Jon quickly answered.

“Ah, figures. All the good ones are either insane or are shrinks.” The Joker snapped his fingers together. “Wait I do know who you are! You’re Jonathan Toews, of the good ol’ Toews family dynasty. At the ripe age of 26, you replaced poor Harley Quinn at my former stomping grounds!” He bellowed with animation. “However, I must warn you dearest Jonathan, I seem to have a knack of giving psychiatrists that one small push over the brink of sanity.” He sneered knowingly.

“Harleen Quinzel…” Jon muttered in realization.

“Ah yes, I appeared to have made quite the impression on dear Harlequin. Granted, she was nearly there herself, I know you’ll be a more entertaining challenge.” He hummed as he wagged his finger at Jon.

Jon looked into his depths, that were clouded in chaos and mischief. “I’m not going to become another _subject _for you to experiment on. I won’t end up like her. You won’t make me insane. I know how guard my sanity.”__

“Oh you have so much to learn. I’ll teach you, you’ll see.” The Joker began to walk past Jonathan and stopped when he reached the doorway. “Remember, darling: crazy people don’t think they’re crazy, but think they’re getting saner. So sane people shouldn’t think they’re sane, but actually going a little crazy.” He sent Jon one last mischievous smirk and walked out, leaving Jon already feeling like his sanity was slipping through his fingers.  


**Author's Note:**

>   
>  I hope you enjoyed it!  
>   
>  **ALSO** , I have a lot more of this story on my computer, but I want to upload it in parts. I have about 7,000 more words saved, so let me know through comments if you want to read more of these two!  
>   
> Constructive criticism is much appreciated!  
>   
> -Aria  
> 


End file.
